


Raise Hell And Turn It Up

by prettybirdy979



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Enemies to Friends, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, It's a lot of pre-flirting that doesn't quite go anywhere, M/M, POV Frank Castle, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-22 19:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17065877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybirdy979/pseuds/prettybirdy979
Summary: Frank's on a rooftop, minding his own business (and trying to survive the heat) when Red rocks up.Turns out, Red's after a fight.Frank is... unsure if Red realises the kind of fight he's actually after but Frank's going to see how this plays out.





	Raise Hell And Turn It Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeaArthurPendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaArthurPendragon/gifts).



There’s something eerie about a dark night in Manhattan, the darkness awful in a way the desert never managed. While there’s no functional difference - Frank can’t see shit without a pair of goggles he’s not bothered to put on yet - the darkened skyline of New York is making his flesh crawl in a way he didn’t think it was still capable of.

The heat isn’t helping much either.

It seeps into his bones - in a familiar way that he finds himself pushing every memory of away - and threatens to drain every drop of energy he thought he had. Every breath is hell on his lungs, and the sweat on every inch of his body does little to cool him. Hell with all the layers he’s got on, it might be making it worse.

Frank curses at the dumbass he was when he started this, pissing off enough people that even in this egg boiler of a day he can’t manage to take off the vest he’s wearing. He’s no Red, dedicated to a symbol that he’ll wear it no matter what, but he’s also no fool. Take off the vest and he’ll be shot at.

Universe is fucked like that.

A clang on the roof behind him has Frank pulling his goggles on and lifting his handgun, already half crouched as he turns for a better line of sight. His clothes cling to his body in this damned heat, making the turn a lot slower than his usual but it’s fast enough Frank spots the body ducking behind the big metal box on the other side of the roof.

With a groan, Frank lifts his goggles up. He recognises the profile, even if Red’s forgone the stupid symbol for tonight.

Frank does not lower the gun.

‘Happy to see me Frank?’ Red drawls, stepping out into Frank’s line of sight, the black masked man not even twitching at the gun that’s now pointed at him. He’s tense, shoulders hunched up in a way that just screams ‘I want to fight someone’. Frank’s familiar with the feel of it - that inch crawling under your skin that just demands blood - but also with the look of it. Back there, he would’ve sent any soldier looking like Red right now somewhere to cool off if he could.

Now he’ll just see how this plays out.

So with a snort, Frank lifts the gun a little higher so it’s pointing at Red’s chest. ‘Not even close there Red.’ He eyes off what he can make out of the mask, covering Red’s eyes so completely that Frank is filled with a sinking disbelief that this is the dumbass everyone fears.

Frank doesn’t give a fuck who Red is beneath the mask but he managed to put enough of the pieces together to realise. How did no one notice this when Red started out?

‘Not much happening out there,’ Red says, taking a step closer. ‘Do you really need to be out tonight?’

‘Could say the same thing about you,’ Frank says with a snort. Red’s many things, but a good liar is not one of them. Cops are too stretched tonight to be bothering with anyone but the loudest of scum; there’s too much happening under the cover of darkness. Surely he could be out getting his blood up on one of them instead of Frank.

Something in Frank shies away from the thought. He lets it, rather than consider what it might mean.

Red takes another step closer and a part of Frank sighs internally, accepting that - unless Red’s stupider than usual - tonight’s not the night Frank’s putting a bullet in him. He lowers the gun.

Keeps it in his hand though. Red’s fast, but is he faster than Frank?

And Red’s taking another step closer, the fucker. Like he’s not already far too close for Frank’s liking, with the speed he moves at. Only a foot or so away and just having another warm body on his roof is making Frank warmer. Goddamned heat.

‘Looking for something Red?’ Frank growls, something warm and proud running through him at the way Red twitches when he speaks. ‘There’s enough scum in this city for the two of us; you don’t need to pick a fight with me.’

‘You going to kill tonight Frank?’ And Frank has to roll his eyes at that, Red’s do-gooder voice like a rush of cold water. As usual.

Only it barely seems effective tonight. Certainly doesn’t seem to be doing anything to make the heat under Frank’s skin fade away.

‘You looking to be my priest?’ Frank takes a step forward before he realises he’s doing it, getting into Ma-Red’s face. There’s a cluttering noise as he drops the gun; he tries to remember wanting to let go and finds he can’t.

‘Looking to spare my city from a bloodbath tonight.’ Red moves forward too, raising his head like he’s capable of looking Frank in the eyes.

They’re inches apart now, and Frank is on fire. His blood _burns_ with the urge to punch Red in his face, as stupid a move as that might turn out to be. He might have the advantage of size, experience, and willingness to kick ass like he means it but Red’s _fast_.

And sometimes, terrifyingly psychic in his ability to predict Frank’s next move.

Might be a fair fight then.

‘I’m not the one who came to this rooftop looking for a fight,’ Frank says, a warm jolt of delight running through him at Red’s shiver - and that he’s close enough to feel it.

‘Who says I want to fight?’ Red drawls, his very tone a demand for a fight.

Frank shifts, like he's about to throw a punch and Red  _moves_. Something in Frank twitches and he's throwing an actual punch with the other hand before his brain quite catches up with the movement.

But of course, Red is fast and ducks that poorly aimed punch - which makes Frank grit his teeth and growl - before shoving at Frank's shoulders. Frank stumbles back a step, ducking under Red's first jab and side stepping his next. He half turns with another punch at Red's face, which he doesn't expect to connect. The one he throws after it though, hits Red right in his stupid face and the groan of pain sends the flames under Frank's skin into an inferno. He finds himself smirking, teeth barred as the urge to sink them into Red's flesh runs through his veins.

Then Red gets his arm against Frank's neck and his back against a wall. And everything  _freezes_ , even as Frank's blood starts to boil over.

Red is so close they're breathing the same air, panting in unison. Frank can smell the blood dripping down Red's face - can almost taste it - and a part of him that is getting more and more overwhelming with every passing second urges him to lean forward and actually  _taste_ it.

Then Red twitches, turning to the left slightly. The heat burning under Frank’s skin stills; as hot as ever but filled with ice by the realisation that’s the look Red gets when he’s heard something.

Or someone.

‘Need a hand?’ Frank asks and covers a flinch at how… _off_ his voice sounds. He clears his throat and adds, ‘Might even be convinced to leave something behind if it’s worth my while.’

Red tilts his head, a smile twitching in the corner of his mouth. The desire to kiss _that_ fills Frank too. ‘A truce, for the moment?’

Is that the new slang for this kind of thing?

‘A truce,’ Frank leers and Red slowly lifts his weight off Frank, moving as slow as ice. ‘If I get there first, I’m shooting it.’

‘Then I won’t let you get there first,’ Red says with a smirk, and goes for the edge of the roof.

The heat under Frank’s skin starts to burn again.

This will be fun.


End file.
